


Osir Houmon

by CaptainDaddy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M, Gonasleng, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Grounder Culture, Grounder Octavia Blake, Grounder Politics, Linctavia - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary John Murphy, Nonbinary Zoe Monroe, Political Marriage, Trigedasleng, Wells Jaha Lives, Yujleda, clarphamy - Freeform, grounder marriage, grounder!bellamy, grounder!octavia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDaddy/pseuds/CaptainDaddy
Summary: Clarke will do anything to protect her people. Murphy will do anything to be useful. When marriage is their only bargaining tool they do not hesitate. For both, the choice is simple, now they have to convince each other (and the rest of the hundred) of their own resolve.





	Osir Houmon

**Author's Note:**

> Osir Houmon - Our Husband

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginteiknes - Negotiations

Walking towards the bridge felt like marching to my death. Grounders lined their side of the rendezvous; spears, swords, arrows, axes, clubs, and other terrifying weapons in their hands. In the middle of the bridge was one woman, her eyes darkened with makeup and her cheeks high. She looked fierce and severe. She looked like she wanted rip my throat out.

My walk ended but surprisingly my life didn’t. I glanced back at my co-leader, Murphy. His jaw was clinched; I know he didn’t like me being in such a vulnerable position, but we had both agreed that, of the two of us, I was the more diplomatic and the most likely to gain peace. Wells was the most diplomatic of all the hundred and would have been our best negotiator but he was currently unconscious; recovering from stab wounds and severed fingers.

I turned back to the woman before me. There was silence for a disturbing amount of time until she suddenly thrust her hand forward. I hesitated, unsure for a moment as to what she wanted, before I remembered how handshakes worked. Shaking off my embarrassment I raised my hand but instead of grasping it she stepped forward and trapped my forearm in her grip. It took me only a second to return the strange greeting, shifting my hand to wrap around her forearm in return. We held that position for a moment until she pulled herself away and I dropped my arm to my side.

In the silence that descended on us I took a deep breath and went for my pitch, “my name is Clarke Griffin, co-leader of the hundred. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” I hope that my voice didn’t shake too much. How could she not hear the pounding of my heart, it almost drowned out my own voice. I fought not to panic.

She regarded me, intense eyes darting down to my too-small battered shoes then up to my golden hair before she settled back on my eyes. “Wanheda, Clarke of the Sky People. My name is Anya kom Trikru, I hope these negotiations do not fail, for your sake.” She spoke with authority. She spoke like a leader, like someone who has done this for a long time, like someone who trained for leadership. I spoke like a child in comparison, my words flat and obviously rehearsed.

I tilted my head, confusion clear in my features. What was this title she had given me? Wanheda? She said it with respect; said it like she feared me. I know it was probably a stupid mistake to show my lack of knowledge so quickly but I was curious so I asked, “Sorry, but...Wanheda, I’m unfamiliar with this word, what does it mean?”

Her answer was immediate and a look, somewhat akin to understanding but not quite, took over her features before she spoke, “It means Commander of Death, the name given to the woman who destroyed three hundred of our warriors in a ring of fire. You command death.”

I let out a shaky breath at her words, spoken in such an unbothered way, like killing three hundred people didn’t make me the monster I knew I was. People called me this? This is how I was known to the grounders? I only wanted to give life, working for as long as I can remember to become a doctor so I could save people like my mom did, well like I thought she did. A bitter edge ate at my emotions at the thought of my mother’s betrayal, it drowned my anxiety and filled me with resolve.

“Negotiations are very one sided right now,” I said, “I won’t lie to you. There’s nothing I’m unwilling to do for the sake of my people. They’re children, most of them. Scared and hungry. We were sent down here to die. We’re expendable to the people still in the Sky. I speak for us, the hundred, not the rest. Anything we agree to here will most likely be ignored and shit on by the chancellor and council if and when they reach the ground. They won’t honor our agreements but I will, the hundred will. We are not them, they are not us. Give me the safety of my people and I will give you anything in return.” Putting all the cards on the table could prove to be my death, but I know I have to be honest if I want my kids to survive.

She seems surprised by my words, showing clear emotion for the first time that I could see, “There are more in the Sky?” Her voice is dark but the question still sends me into a spiral of explanations. I tell her everything. I tell her about my dad and why I was locked up, I explain the Sky Box and how we’re all criminals in the eyes of the Ark, the law and how everything is capital punishment; even the smallest crime has a sentence of death. On and on I speak until my throat is raw from it, but I feel like a weight has been lifted. Finally, someone knows. Someone who, by the disgusted look on her face, is just as horrified by the Ark as the hundred and I are.

She’s quiet for a long time after I finish speaking. She turns to look out on the river that rushes below us. Without speaking she gestures towards her side and I think my death is imminent again. One person steps forward, carrying a basket. Her brown hair is braided and pulled back in a high ponytail that swishes along with the basket as she jogs lightly towards the bridge. As she nears I see metallic tattoos on her exposed arm swoop gracefully up her shoulder.

Murphy steps forward, a look of concern coloring his angular features, the gun in his hand gripped just slightly harder. A step behind him Monty and Raven both look on in frozen horror. I lift my own hand, signaling them to stay back. Anya would kill me herself if she was planning that. She wouldn’t have a young girl do it.

“This is Octavia kom Yujledakru, General and second in command to her brother Haihefa, apologies King, Bellamy kom Yujledakru. She is my Seken, my second. I trained her in the ways of the sword when she was a child and she agreed to return to Trikru in order assist me in dealing with you.” Anya speaks with no emotion but I can see the pride in her eyes as she gazes at Octavia.

I reassess my opinion of the newcomer immediately. The sword at her back I hadn’t noticed before. The armor she wore, which I thought maybe all grounders wore but couldn’t be too sure about just yet. There was a scar just under her chin and a glint in her eyes that bespoke of a warrior’s wisdom. She was beautiful and deadly, just like Anya. She also wore black makeup, in a different pattern to that of Anya, on her eyes and forehead; which gave me the impression that she could kill me with a single pinky.

“Octavia kom Yujledakru, it’s a pleasure to meet you”, I held my chin up, didn’t let my voice wobble, and prayed I got the pronunciation correct.

In a rough voice and deadly tone she spoke, “The sentiment is not held in mutual regard, I assure you, _Wanheda_.” Octavia’s green eyes narrowed, the effect made more effective by the black surrounding them.

My confidence dropped, I had killed someone close to her. I just knew it. She was going to kill me. I couldn’t blame her, really, I hated myself for what I had done, her hating me would just be the icing on the cake. Before I could speak and offer my life for the safety of the hundred she dropped gracefully to the ground, legs folded in front of her the way I had been instructed to do as a child in school. When Anya followed suit I slipped to my butt as well. Strange.


End file.
